


two hares running side by side

by betony



Category: Gender/Sexbent Disney - Ripushko, Mulan (1998)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:03:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betony/pseuds/betony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>General Li has a daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	two hares running side by side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rosencrantz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosencrantz/gifts).



Shui is still awake when her father comes home from his audience with the Emperor. His face is pale—has been, ever since the messenger from the Wall interrupted one of their rare family dinners—and his hands shake as he removes his helmet and tosses it aside with none of his usual reverence. Many things could have torn him away from a faltering conversation with her about how it is well past time she met with the Matchmaker; not many things can reduce the mighty General Li of the Middle Kingdom to this state. 

Shui says nothing, only waits for him to speak. Over the years her father has taught her patience, among other virtues, without quite meaning to. 

“The Huns have invaded China once more,” her father says at last. “Shan Yu leads them. We are at war.” 

It is not quite a surprise. As long as she can remember, it seems there has always been one war or another to occupy her father’s attention. Why, then, do his words ring so ominous to her ears tonight? “I leave in the morning,” the General adds brusquely, and then he is gone. 

Shui turns her attention back to her cold rice, dry-eyed. 

* * *

She doesn’t remember her mother. 

A famous beauty, from what she has heard; a spirited young noblewoman of the court, who rendered somber General Li a babbling fool and married him in the face of her family’s displeasure. Such displeasure, in fact, that they cast her off, clinging to their anger even when—or perhaps because—she died not ten months later in childbed. 

So Shui grows up, quiet and lonely, in the great mansion that’s belonged to the Li family for generations without mother or father or ancestors to watch over her. 

There are advantages, of course. She has no friends to distract her from her study, and so she reads unhindered: not only the _Analects_ and the _Shi Jing_ , of which her father approves, but also the _Six Secret Teachings_ ,of which he approves somewhat less. But what can he do? He is a military man, and talk of war is what comes naturally to his tongue. Shui suspects he is rather proud of the fact that even a daughter of his is the unquestionable equal of another man’s son. 

When he is away, she teaches herself other things, too: how to use the weapons he left behind, how to build muscle and strength into her body, how to make herself a fitting daughter for such an illustrious father. 

(He notices, she flatters herself sometimes; notices and is pleased, but some things he will never admit. It is enough to believe that she can understand him.) 

So when, hours after her father has left her behind for the last time, Shui cuts her hair and binds her breasts with her usual efficiency, it is not so very surprising. After all, there’s nothing left for her at the Li estate anymore. if her father comes back, so much the better, and if he doesn’t, she will be an unprotected maiden who will bring any man bold enough to wed her both wealth and influence. Far better that she sacrifices her life to the military; at least her father would approve. 

“What’s your name, recruit?” the clerk at the Wu Shu camp barks, and very calmly—she has planned and prepared for this moment for what feels like most of her life, after all—she replies: “Li Shang.” 

* * *

It doesn’t take her long to realize she’s serving with a bunch of incompetent fools; clearly the families of China sent barnyard animals—or at least boys demonstrating the general intelligence, not to mention manners, of beasts—in place of their sons. If even one of them has read or understood the Seven Military Classics, Shui will eat her slippers uncomplaining. 

And Ping— Ping is unquestionably the worst recruit Shui has ever seen. He draws disaster with every breath, and he’s nothing more than a scrawny weed of a boy, apparently never having picked up anything heavier than a sack of chicken feed in his life. Ping rides into camp beside his father, Fa Zhou glowing with pride as he bids the officers take care of his son. Naturally Captain Bao assigns him to be Shui’s partner during basic training exercises. 

Her throat swells with the unfairness of this, but in her circumstances, it is not wise to draw attention to herself. She stays resolutely silent, even as Ping knocks over all the other recruits by mistake at staffwork, and stumbles over and, in the course of a particularly unfortunate night, even sets himself on fire. 

At last she can bear it no longer. She twirls the staff in one hand, the familiarity of her exercises comforting, and shows him how to hold it properly. She can’t resist showing off, though, throwing a couple of unused pots into the air and shattering them in mid-air, and in this is her undoing. 

“Hey,” says one of the other recruits, the stringy one—Ling, is it? “Not bad there, Shang.” 

“It’s just something I picked up,” she says gruffly. “It’s not a big deal—“ 

“Not a big deal?” Ping’s eyes are wide. “The only other time I’ve even heard of anyone pulling off something like that is when my father spoke of training alongside General Li.” 

Shui’s heart races. Too close to the truth, far too close— 

“I don’t care what your father thinks,” she bites out, disrespectful and unkind and not caring in the slightest. “I just couldn’t watch you make a fool of yourself any longer. I’m going to bed.” 

“What’s his problem?” she hears the short one, Yao, mumble behind her, but she holds her head high. It doesn’t matter what they think of her, it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. 

(She strains her ears to catch the rest of their conversation about her, regardless.) 

* * *

A cough outside her tent jolts her from her sleep; instinctively she grabs for a knife, her sword, anything to protect herself, when Ping’s ridiculous face peeks in, and he says: “It’s just me. Don’t worry.” 

Shui lets out a long breath. “What is it?” 

“Nothing! That is—I thought you might want some company? Or something? Nice night for some wine, don’t you think? Ha ha ha.” Shui gives him a flat look. “Or maybe not.” 

Surely, by the very fact that she pitched her tent here, far away from any others, she had made it perfectly clear that visitors were the last thing she wanted. 

Ping sighs. “All right,” he says. “The truth is, I was wondering if you had any more pointers for me? If you have the time, that is, I wouldn’t want to imp—Mushu, _hush,_ I’m asking him—um, I mean—I know I’m not very good. I know the only reason Bao hasn’t sent me home is because of what he thinks my father might say. I’d just—like to prove myself. To have a chance on my own terms. Not my father’s. “ 

Ping’s eyes are wide and hopeful; Shui, with all her stubbornness and discipline, is helpless behind such a sad display. Grudgingly, she inclines her head. 

* * *

What’s most surprising is how much she enjoys teaching. 

She likes the puzzle of translating her own muscle memory into movements Ping can copy, correcting his abominable posture, showing him where to aim his punches and block to the greatest effect. She likes the satisfaction of watching him improve, of succeeding where Bao could not. Ping responds best to challenges; give him an impossible task, tell him you doubted, and he’d pull out an impossible way to succeed. Little wonder he’s never read the Seven Military Classics, Shui thinks; he’ll never have to, with a mind for strategy like his. 

She has to admit he’s not half so stupid as she had thought him. 

When the most terrible of all fates comes to pass in the Tung Shao Pass, and Shui looks down on her father’s corpse, Ping is beside her; she’s oddly grateful for his silence and his sympathy. Not an hour later, he’s creating an avalanche after stealing the last cannon, sprinting down the hillside with her and the few other recruits who remain, destroying the Hun army single-handed—without a doubt the craziest man she’s ever met. But certainly the bravest, or at least the luckiest. 

When the roar of snow subsides—when, against all expectations, she finds herself standing with a handful of recruits, all who did not either join the Huns beneath a wall of snow or join Bao when he abandon them in the face of the Huns’ attack. They have nowhere to go, no captain to follow. They huddle together around a small fire and wait for nothing in particular. 

Ping disappears off to the other side of the cliff and returns frowning. “Shan Yu survived,” he says, face grim. “Mushu saw—uh, I think _I_ saw something on the far mountain, just now.” 

Her comrades let out cries of shock and dismay, and Shui says nothing. 

There is an emptiness within her, a place where purpose once burned bright but now has disappeared. It shames her to think how much of all she’d done was for approval; and now that approval is not coming, will never come, she finds her motivation faded. 

It must not fade. It cannot fade. China depends on it. 

Shui raises her chin. 

She thinks of Ping's words when he'd first sought her out: _I’d just—like to prove myself. To have a chance on my own terms. Not my father’s._

She speaks, clear and firm: “My name is Shui, firstborn daughter of General Li. In his—“ she swallows “—absence, I lead you onward to the Imperial City. I might be a woman—I _am_ a woman, but I have fought along you and trained along you and my fate is tied to yours as much as yours to China's.” 

(Ping is smiling to himself; she wonders, idly, how much he might have already guessed. More than she would have liked—he was always too clever for his own good.) 

“You have proven your courage already,” she goes on. “I cannot call you cowards. But will you prove your loyalty to China above all? Will you ride with me to the Imperial City to bring word and all remaining troops to the Emperor? Or will you go home today, turn your back on duty and destiny, all because all you see in me is a woman?” 

The words hang in the cold air for a long moment. Shui has had enough of waiting. She turns her horse towards the Imperial City. Ping at least, she hopes, will come; as for the rest, let them do as they please. Shui has found her path, and she doesn’t intend to leave it, any more than her father would. 

( _I don’t care what anyone thinks,_ she tells herself fiercely, and for once she means it.) 

Behind her, the men rise to their feet and follow.

**Author's Note:**

> For Rosencrantz, who wanted _Shang_ as the woman as disguise as a man, which was something I never before knew I wanted to write. The title is, of course, from the original Ballad of Mulan.


End file.
